


Nebula

by Yoite



Series: FebuWhump 2021 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Conversations in bed, Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Established Relationship, FebuWhump2021, Febuwhump, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Prompt Fill, Ramblings, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Touching, i have no idea how to tag this, it's really random
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29218557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/pseuds/Yoite
Summary: Sometimes, Aziraphale's touch felt like sugar caramelising on Crowley's skin.Written for FebuWhump 2021, Day 5: "Take me instead". TW: brief reference to death.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: FebuWhump 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141988
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Nebula

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how to tag or summarise this, honestly. It's just a random ramble-cum-writing exercise. But I kind of like it.

They spent hours like this sometimes. It only worked when the world around them walked on tiptoes, in that intangible, lithesome stretch of time before the first blue of dawn. Wrapped into this quietude their skin became more permeable, somehow, allowing what was cloaked inside it to transude. In these moments, when Aziraphale's fingertips smoothed along Crowley's naked back they left raw, gleaming trails of light in their wake. The demon lied perfectly still for him, face buried in his pillow, barely breathing, glowing under the angel's touch.

There was the occasional little sniff. Yes, it was painful, Crowley had told him, but it was the sweetest, most intoxicating pain, like sugar caramelising on his skin, addictive. A deliciously sharp longing he could not even think of coherently, let alone describe in words. The angel was almost jealous that he had no concept of what that kind of longing felt like. 

Sometimes, he caught a glimpse of it when visiting retirement homes, helping the residents find peace before crossing over. The wistful smiles on their faces brought out by an old melody, by the smell of freshly baked bread; the sparks in their eyes, as if lit by an incandescent, white-hot spot inside them, a place that they knew no longer existed anywhere outside of their body.

Crowley described it differently once, on a much grander scale, of course. It was like being suspended inside a nebula, he said, in the pitch-black, airless, freezing vastness of it, floating aimlessly; then catching a brief flash of how it appeared from the outside looking in, from billions and billions of light-years away, hot and pulsing and iridescent.

"I should have never allowed you to fall", Aziraphale once said when they were lying in bed like this. "I should have said, 'take me instead'".

"You really think that would have worked?", the demon chuckled softly, "you can't just change God's mind. And you-.. you were always _so_ _perfect_."

It could have sounded like a reproach, like mockery, but when Crowley turned around to face him, touching his cheek, Aziraphale knew it wasn't.

"You _are_ perfection."

"No, I'm not", the angel whispered. It worked both ways. In the darkest of night, he could feel Crowley's touch soak into him like ink on blotting paper. The giddy excitement of curious doubt, the promised adventure of a straight and narrow road splitting into two winding, shadowy paths. 

"Not anymore."

**Author's Note:**

> Too soppy?


End file.
